


Sins of the Father

by Weisse_Rose



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 19:49:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5883424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weisse_Rose/pseuds/Weisse_Rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killian Jones is cursed. His touch brings death to any living thing. He's made a life for himself though, becoming the most feared pirate that has ever walked the realms. He thinks he's made peace with his fate, until he meets Emma Swan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by the beautiful work [Amaranthine](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5859601/chapters/13506526) by caprelloidea, which, truth be told, you should probably be reading right now instead of this.
> 
> I was intrigued by the touch starvation aspect of the story, so here is my take on it.

It was the first thing out of his mouth when they discovered him among the dead of the village. _Get back, I'm cursed._ The one who had approached him reeled back in fear, as he had expected. What he hadn't expected was the blonde woman, regarding him with intrigued green eyes, filled with curiosity, and definitely suspicion, but without fear. He told them that it was his curse that saved him, the attackers didn't want to risk it and just left him behind.

When she confronted him, her eyes sparkling with the knowledge that she had seen through his trickery, he was adamant that he was telling her the truth, that he really was cursed.

She smiled at him. "Yes, but that's not the part I was talking about." And then the bloody woman tied him to a tree.

She was beautiful and fascinating and a distraction he really couldn't afford. So when she left him tied atop the bean stalk, it was a relief in some ways. Because he'd sworn to himself that he would never go through that again. 

* * *

His moniker was a joke, really. _Captain Hook_. It was the least lethal part of him, after all. When he struck somebody with his hook, at least there was a possibility they might survive. 

He didn't let her win the sword fight per se. He was just distracted by trying really hard not to kill her. And the last thing he realized before she knocked him out cold was that she was wearing gloves.

* * *

Neverland changed things. For once, somebody gave him credit for doing the right thing. It felt strange, really. To have done the right thing in the first place and then get rewarded for it. She thanked him and he couldn't help but let his thoughts stray, wondering if things had been different, if they could have had a chance, fantasizing about the soft touch of her lips on his.

It was his darkest secret, which he revealed to them in the caves. That he craved her, even though he should know better. Should know such things were not for the likes of him.

In Neverland, she also witnessed for the first time just what kind of a monster he really was. It was during the fight with the lost boys when one of them stumbled, crashing into him. Every other part of him was covered in layers of leather, but the boy's hand brushed along his face. He screamed, staring at the black tendrils spreading out over his skin from the point of contact with pain and terror in his eyes. He crumbled, still screaming in agony, until they reached his heart and he slumped on the ground, lifeless. He caught Emma's eyes after and for the first time, he saw a flash of fear and he was glad, glad that she finally knew him for what he really was and that they could stop pretending that he could ever be anything else.

When they came back from Neverland, he withdrew from her life. There was nothing for it. She had Baelfire now, the father of her son, a man she could have a future with. He tried in vain to protect his heart, but it was too late. He fled from her, but she consumed his days, his nights, his thoughts anyway. He had only let it get this far once before and he had sworn to himself then that he would never allow it happen again.

Milah had been a revelation and a torment for him. She wanted to see the world, wanted adventure and excitement and this, at least, he had been able to offer her. There had been touches with gloved hands, tales they told each other, but it was never quite enough. He wanted to hold her, to get lost in her and he knew it would never be possible. She was always close and still unreachable and it was a sweet kind of torture.

He'd long ago faced the ugly truth that a part of the reason he sought revenge against the Dark One with every fibre of his being was guilt. Because in the first split second after her death he'd been glad. Before the terror and the pain and self disgust that followed, for a second he had been glad that the torment was finally over. Because he didn't have the strength to leave her, he never had. It was for this split second that he could never forgive himself. For this split second that he swore he would hunt the crocodile to the end of all the realms, until one of them was dead. He was bitterly aware of the irony that the only man he really, really wanted dead was impervious to his curse.

* * *

They fell into a strange sort of routine. After long nights away from her, he'd finally admitted defeat. Now, he was always by her side. He'd fallen again into the same trap as with Milah. Unable to reach out, yet unable to draw back either. He noted that Emma was wearing gloves all the time now. He would make a comment and she would punch him lightly in the arm. He would slip on a branch in the forest and her hand would reach out to him, steadying him. It seemed that she wasn't afraid of him any longer, if she had ever been at all, and that, especially, terrified him.

When he came to New York for her, he planned to kiss her. After all, it was the land without magic, it stood to reason that his curse would be lifted there. The thought alone had his heart thumping wildly in his chest. So, in the small forest they for some reason had left standing in the middle of a city, he made a test. He touched a small vital plant and watched it wither and die before his eyes. It was his own fault, he should never have gotten his hopes up in the first place.

* * *

When Zelena drowned him, he struggled violently at first. Then, inch by inch, he gave in. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe it was time to let go. He knew Zelena's plan would fail. Emma had a son, a family that cared about her, people who depended on her to save the day. He was a menace, walking, breathing death, and she would never throw her life away for him. It was unthinkable. His movements became slower and slower, then he lay still in the water. 

He gasped and opened his eyes to see Emma staring at him in shock. Her hand was on her lips and her eyes were wide with fear.

He coughed, then his hand shot to his own lips.

"What did you _do_?" His voice was filled with shock and fear. She couldn't have. It made no sense.

Carefully, Emma removed the glove on her left hand. Then, she tentatively reached for his face. He retreated with a jerk, but not far enough. Her fingers ghosted over his cheek, along his jaw, then slowly over his lips.

Her touch was pure electricity. His eyes closed and the world stopped. All he could feel was the feather-soft touch of her fingers, sending sparks of lightning over his skin.

He could hear the smile, and, buried beneath it, the fear, in her words as she spoke. "Breathe. I just got your lungs working again. Don't suffocate on me now."

He drew air in with a gulp as he realized he had indeed been holding his breath. He opened his eyes and looked at her in wonder. She drew her hand back, and it was an overwhelming sensation of loss. She moved it to the lapel of his jacket instead and helped him to sit up. He coughed again.

They stared at each other for a long moment. He didn't know what to say. _Why_ was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't get it out. 

Then he watched, enthralled, as her hands slowly reached for his right hand. His instinct made him pull back, but she held on to him, carefully taking off his glove. She intertwined the fingers of their right hands. He remained frozen in place.

Her short laugh brought him out of his stupor.

"It seems your curse is broken."

He looked at their hands in wonder, then shook his head, trying to wake himself up. Was this really happening?

"Or maybe it's just you, love."

She raised an eyebrow at him, then helped him to stand up. Which turned out to be quite the feat as he steadfastly refused to let go of her hand in the process. When they finally both stood, she looked him up and down.

"You must be freezing. Let's get you out of these wet clothes."

He wiggled his eyebrow at her. "And here I thought you'd never ask."

She looked at him, surprised. He himself wasn't sure what had gotten into him. He'd never been one for innuendo. It was only a painful reminder of the things he couldn't have. _Well, that wasn't quite true anymore, was it?_ He quickly shut down that train of thought. But he didn't let go of Emma's hand.

* * *

Emma brought him back to her parents' lodgings, of all places. Thankfully, the Charmings were out for the time being. She send him off to the bathroom for a hot shower, going off in search for some dry clothes for him. 

It was one of the pleasures of this realm that he enjoyed immensely. Being able to stand in a never-ending spray of hot water. It was vastly preferable to cold baths, which was what he'd mostly gotten in Neverland, back in the day.

He'd turned the water to an almost scorching temperature, leaning his head against the shower wall, trying to collect his thoughts. He was afraid that he would wake up at any moment, that what had happened earlier would turn out to be merely a dream. Or, even worse, it would turn out to be a fluke, a one-time thing and the next time she tried to touch him he would have to watch her die in agony. How could he ever be sure? Maybe the near-death experience had temporarily messed with the curse and now he was back to normal. He sighed. They just couldn't risk it. He would tell her as soon as he stepped out of the shower.

* * *

When he returned to the living room, with only a towel draped around his waist, he felt exposed and embarrassed. It appeared, he'd come to rely on his armour of leather.

Emma had some soft grey pants and a t-shirt in her arms, which she seemed to have momentarily forgotten, as she looked him up and down, her expression taking on an almost lecherous touch, before she pulled herself back together.

"Here. They're David's, but I don't think he would mind, given the circumstances."

When she handed him the pile, their hands touched again and he felt another jolt of electricity on his skin. So much for the theory that it was a one time thing. He should have been relieved, but it was a scary thought somehow, that this was real, that this was something he could actually _have_.

He pulled himself out of his reverie only to find Emma staring at the large scar across his abdomen. Before he could say anything in reply to her questioning gaze, she reached out her fingers and ghosted them over the scar. He shuddered. She noticed and drew her hand back quickly. Then she looked at his face, a strange expression crossing her features that he could not quite decipher. 

She surprised him by reaching out her hand again, this time touching him with the flat of her palm, slowly drawing it up from his abdomen to his chest. His eyes closed and he exhaled a shaky breath. Her hand left a trail of fire on his skin. He tried to keep his control, to stay still. Despite his best efforts he started shaking slightly. 

When he was younger he had sometimes drawn his hands over his skin, imagining what the touch of another human being might feel like. He'd thought, foolishly, that there couldn't be much difference to his own hands. Never once had he thought it could be like this, like liquid fire pouring over him. It was almost too much, he was teetering on the edge of sensory overload already.

Emma continued to draw her hand over his chest and along his collarbone. He moaned, then bit his lip, embarrassed by the sound. His heartbeat thundered in his chest and suddenly it was too much, too soon. He stepped back out of her reach and opened his eyes.

He saw a quick flash of hurt cross her features before her walls went up with full force.

"Sorry", she muttered.

He tried to get some form of coherence back into his racing thoughts. He felt it was of vital importance that he make her understand why he'd flinched away. 

"It's fine. It's more than fine. I ... it's just that nobody has ever touched me like that. I just need time."

She stared at him, her eyes wide in shock. "You mean ... never?"

"Cursed, remember?", he aimed for a light tone, but the words came out more hurt than he'd intended.

Emma shook her head slightly. "I know. I just thought you had, you know, a life before the curse. I kind of assumed one of your dastardly, pirately deeds backfired on you or something." She was aiming for levity as well.

He sighed and picked up the clothes from the floor. He hadn't realized he'd dropped them, but it must have happened while Emma was touching him. His whole body and mind had been reduced to that singular sensation. Just thinking about it made his heart race again. 

He put on the shirt. It made him feel a little better, a little less exposed. He turned back to Emma.

"I was indeed cursed for a 'dastardly' deed, as you so eloquently put it, love. Only it wasn't mine. It took me a long time to piece the story together. Suffice it to say, my father committed a crime hurting the wrong people. Maybe if he'd been a smarter man he would have known not to mess with witches." He paused, long buried memories of his childhood bubbling back to the surface.

"But I don't understand. How can you always have been cursed? When you were a baby..."

He nodded, a cruel grin spreading on his features that held no amusement whatsoever. "Aye. The midwife was the very first victim of the curse, my mother and father soon to follow. There was another farm close to my parent's. They had a little girl, only a few years of age. She must have heard me crying and came to investigate." He paused, exhaling a deep breath. "I was told that I killed half a dozen people before I was even a day old. Quite the reputation to uphold, huh?" He laughed without mirth.

" _Oh Killian_ " Emma felt the sting of unshed tears in the corners of her eyes. "How did you survive?"

Killian nodded, deep in thought. "A travelling monk was lodging at the neighbours' farm. His name was Sebastian. When the little girl's father tried to pick me up, he witnessed the man's fate. He possessed a pair of leather gloves and he was able to pick me up while wearing them. He took me in. He saved me from cold and starvation. My parents had a goat and he told me I accepted it's milk." He paused, a faraway look in his eyes. 

"When I was young I asked him many times why he didn't just let me perish that day. Clearly, I was a work of the devil, brought to the world to wreak destruction. He'd always reply that it wasn't the will of the Gods. If they had wanted me to perish they would have made sure he wasn't there to save me." 

He stopped, hesitating before the next words tumbled out of him. "Every time my touch took a life, even centuries later, I thought of him. If he would still think he'd done the right thing. If he could still believe that the Gods wanted me to live. He would have been ashamed of the monster I became." The last words were only a whisper.

He was crying silently, his jaw clenched with the effort of maintaining control. Emma's heart went out to him and she stepped forward and embraced him in a tight hug before she realized what she was doing. Killian stood frozen in place.

She pulled back slightly in order to ask him if this was alright. She never got the chance though, just as she was about to open her mouth, he closed the small distance between them and drew his arms around her, pulling her impossibly close, crushing the air out of her. She hesitantly drew her hand through his hair in slow, soothing movements. He made a broken sound somewhere between a sob and a moan. 

It took a long, long time, but in the end she felt the tension draw out of him, felt him almost collapse against her as his muscles finally relaxed and he let out a shaky breath, whispering her name.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing they did afterwards was to find out if the curse really had been broken. 

Killian reached for the flower tentatively, only to watch it wither and die under his touch. Emma could see the moment the hesitant hope vanished from his face to be replaced by resignation, his shoulders sagging. She reached for him, meaning to reassure him, but he jerked back from her touch.

This would happen a lot over the coming weeks. She would reach for him, only to find him retreating instinctively. Sometimes he would catch himself, and he would only tense instead of pulling back. It was a difficult time for Emma. She had to remind herself again and again that he could not simply forget centuries of being careful around those he cared for, centuries of evading the touch of another human being like it was a matter of life and death. But it hurt nonetheless to witness him drawing back from her over and over.

It would always be only the first instant though. The moment his conscious thought took over, he would melt into her touch, reaching out for her in turn. Every time, she was taken aback anew by the tenderness in each of his reverent caresses, like she was a precious treasure made of glass that could break any moment if he wasn't careful enough

There were only two occasions where his demeanour changed and he crushed her into an air-depriving bear hug like that first day. Both times, it was after she'd had a brush with death, while thwarting whatever evil was lurking in Storybrook at the time. He'd held onto her like she was his life line, which in some ways, maybe she was. He'd held onto her and mumbled her name into her hair and pulled her as close as humanly possible. It was always her who drew back first, after a long time. She sometimes wondered how long those hugs would have gone on otherwise. He seemed to be content to stay like this forever.

She remained strangely immune to his curse, unlike anybody or anything else he had ever encountered in his life. Nobody could offer any explanation for it. If it had been true love's kiss that day she saved his life, it should have broken the curse completely. Maybe it was because she was the saviour, the product of true love. Killian didn't much care what the reason was, as long as it didn't change. 

If he was entirely honest with himself, he had to admit that he was terrified. Terrified that whatever made her an exception would stop working suddenly and his touch would kill her. He knew in his heart that he could never come back from that and he didn't intend to. 

Many times, he would make the decision to stop seeing her, stop the touches, stop the hugs. It was the only way to keep her save. But then he would inevitably see her again and she would smile at him and his resolve would crumble to bits. He had lived such a long time and yet he had never asked anything of the Gods, had never once prayed to them to lift this curse from him. But he prayed to them now, prayed that he wasn't making a huge mistake, prayed fervently that Emma wouldn't have to pay the price for his selfishness.

* * *

When he sat with her father at the camp fire, in a different time and realm, under a different name, he told the prince of his fears.

"I'm a danger to her." His words were gloomy as he stared into the darkness surrounding them.

Charming laughed, and Killian turned to him, surprised.

"Of course you are. Love is the most dangerous thing there is."

He regarded the prince carefully, wondering how much he could share with this man without affecting the past.

"You don't understand. There is darkness in me. Every day, every hour, I'm afraid that it will come to the surface and claim her as well." His voice broke on the last part and he turned away from the other man, ashamed. "Forgive me, we hardly know each other. I shouldn't have bothered you with my troubles."

He felt Charming's hand settle on his shoulder and tensed. The prince still wore his gloves and Killian was clad in leather, yet he had to fight the overwhelming urge to pull away.

"I can see that you care deeply for her. And she cares for you, too. And that's all there is to it. You will find a way."

Killian huffed. "It's not that simple."

"It's _exactly_ that simple."

Much later, when he was sitting in front of Granny's diner and Emma sat down at his table, smiling, he wondered if it really could be that simple. If this was something that he could have. If the Gods, for once, had decided to give him a break.

* * *

"You traded your ship for me?"

"Aye."

Emma looked at him in wonder. His ship had been his home for decades, _centuries_ even. The only constant in his life. And he'd traded it away just for the chance to find her. 

When she reached out her hand to cup his cheek, he didn't pull back. He didn't even flinch. He just stared at her with that expression of wonder that never failed to make her knees wobbly. She was quite grateful that she was seated at the moment. 

She moved closer, searching his eyes for confirmation, reassurance. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. She leaned in and brushed her lips against his, then opened her mouth slowly. The kiss was awkward at first, noses bumping and teeth clashing. Emma realized with a start that this was his first kiss. A man who had lived over 300 years, who had spread terror and fear in the hearts of his fellow man. And he had never been kissed. 

As in everything else, he proved a quick study in this as well. She showed him what she liked and he copied her movements. She deepened the kiss, showing him that she wanted this, that she wanted him, putting everything into the kiss that she couldn't put into words. He made a needy sound in the back of his throat that send shivers down her spine. 

When they pulled apart, he leaned his forehead against hers. Both of them were gulping in air, trying to get their breathing back under control.

After a few seconds, he dived in for another kiss and if she hadn't known better she would have said that he had done this all his life.

Somewhere along the line, she ended up in his lap. In hindsight, she couldn't exactly recall when and how it had happened. The last half hour was somewhat of a blur. He pulled back, panting, and looked up at her. In his eyes was an expression of pure awe and it made her heart clench. It reminded her painfully of all the things he had missed out on in his long life.

"That was ... um." He said, clearly at a loss for words.

They were interrupted by somebody clearing their throat loudly behind them and Emma jumped up, embarrassed that she had actually indulged in a make-out session with _Captain Hook_ right in front of the diner, for all the world to see.

A flash of something akin to sadness crossed his features but it was gone too quickly for her to identify. She could see the instant his mask fell back in place, the moment he became again the unapproachable, lonely man he was to the rest of the world.

She offered him her hand, not ready to let go of the man he'd been only moments before just yet. He looked at it with surprise. After a moment's hesitation, he accepted it and she pulled him up, probably pulling him a little closer to her than was necessary in the process.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out I couldn't stay away from this story. I've given up on pretending it's not going to be a multi-chapter.
> 
> In my current plan, this is going to have two more chapters after this one, which will be focussed on more firsts for Killian, much like the rest.
> 
> I'm very grateful for all your encouragement as this fic is very close to my heart. Thank you!

Killian stared at the ice wall, despair gripping his heart. When the woman with the ice magic said that Emma is turning blue, that she is freezing, he lost it. He frantically hacked at the ice with his hook, knowing full well that he might as well bash his head against the wall for all the good it was doing. He just had to do _something_. She couldn't die, couldn't freeze to death, trapped in a cold ice cave, all alone except for the woman who trapped her there.

Thinking about it later, he felt very grateful that Emma's father was there. David kept his calm and managed to reason with Emma's captor. When they finally drew Emma out through the hole in the wall, the relief cursing through him was so intense that it almost knocked him off his feet. Emma could have died. The thought sent a cold shiver down his spine. She was so cold, shivering in his arms. The urge to hold her close, keep her warm and, above all, _protect_ her, surprised him in its intensity. 

They sat in her parents' living room for a long time afterwards. Even after everybody else left or went to bed, they still sat together in the arm chair, reluctant to let go. Emma had long since stopped shivering, the combined heat of him, the blankets and the small radiator proving sufficient to get her body temperature back to normal. Still, she remained cuddled up to him, neither of them moving away.

For once, her guard was down and she didn't hide her vulnerability. It was strange to him, seeing Emma like this. Only weeks before, she would have excused herself as soon as possible and hidden away, concealing her weakness from the world, from him.

Late into the night, Emma's breathing got more even and she slumped against him. He knew the time he should have brought her to bed had passed hours ago, but he just could not bring himself to do it. She let herself be protected by him, cared for by him, and he was acutely aware of the fact that this was only a fleeting moment in time and he had to cherish it. Because she was always so strong, strong for him, strong for her son, strong for her parents. She was always so brave and fearless and he just wanted to tell her that it was okay to need help sometimes. And she finally, _finally_ let him in, and he was drowning in it, drowning in her closeness and he just could not let her go.

Emma shifted, sitting back slightly and looking up at him. Only a soft light was coming in from the street and her expression was sleepy, but he could still see something in her eyes, like she was debating with herself. Then she made a decision and stood up slowly, stretching her limbs. He felt cold, even though the room was fairly warm. But her absence hit him like a physical loss and he had to make an effort to stay seated and not reach for her to draw her back into his embrace. 

Emma looked down on him and smiled, then she held out her hand as if in invitation. He raised an eyebrow at her, not sure what exactly she is inviting him to do. Then he lifted his hand and took hers. She turned around immediately and started walking, drawing him along. His heart stopped beating for a moment when he realized that she was walking up the stairs, that she was finally going to bed and she was taking him along. 

They stopped in front of her bed and he had no idea what to do with himself. She started to undress and he turned around, giving her her privacy. His heart was thundering in his chest by now and his throat was dry and he didn't know what she expected him to do. He didn't have any experience with this, with being close to somebody and he could feel the panic creep up on him. What if he did something wrong? What if he didn't do what she expected? What if he couldn't- he felt her arms draw around him from behind, her head coming to rest between his shoulder blades.

"Relax. Let's just sleep."

She breathed the words against him and he felt some of the tension draw out of him, his muscles relaxing. Emma stepped back and vanished under the duvet. He stared at her for a long moment, thinking how beautiful she looked, how innocent. He knew he didn't deserve her, but for some unfathomable reason she had not figured that out yet.

He took off his heavy coat and put it on the chair in the corner of the room. He unbuttoned his shirt and was surprised at the thrill that ran through him at the thought of spending the night with Emma in his arms. Such a long time of his life has been spend carefully and thoroughly removing any thoughts and desires related to being close to another from his mind. He cannot let go of his fear easily.

He stepped up to the bed and for the span of a heartbeat he considered leaving, turning his back on this and running away, to a place where she could never track him down. Because he was poison and every moment she spent in his presence corrupted her, eating like acid at her soul. But even as he thought it he knew he cannot, will not do it. Because he was selfish. 

He took a deep breath and lay down beside her. Her arm closed around him and it was warm, and safe, and nice in a way that was different from anything he ever experienced before. He felt the tension seep out of his muscles, felt the exhaustion finally claim him. Not just the exhaustion of the previous night, of fearing for Emma's life. The exhaustion of many lifetimes spent withdrawing himself from human contact, lifetimes spent hiding and telling himself it was all for the best.

She rested her head in the crook of his neck and he thought he could happily stay in this moment forever.

He awoke the next morning because something was tickling his nose. Emma was all around him, her presence overwhelming. Somewhere along the line, he had buried his face in her hair and he inhaled deeply, committing the sensation to memory. Because even now he was convinced that this thing cannot last. Good things never lasted. Not for him, at least. But he will take what happiness he can get. And right now he had a beautiful, strong, wonderful woman in his arms and that was more than he ever expected.

Something stirred in him, desires he thought buried forever a long time ago. Buried deep, deep down, because he knew it could never be and thinking about it only enhanced the torment. But not any more. He could be close to Emma in a way that he never thought possible and it was a terrifying and exhilarating thought. He inhaled again and marvelled at the many nuances in her scent. He was acutely aware of every point where their bodies touched and it sent a shiver through him.

He felt his desire for her becoming more and more evident and suddenly he was terribly afraid. What if she didn't feel the same way? What if she only took pity on him to let it go this far? What if he turned out to be incapable of showing her the true depth of his feelings for her? He'd lived for over 300 years, but he didn't feel ready for this.

Emma stirred and pulled back a little to look up at him. She smiled at him lazily. It was a dazzling, beautiful smile, one of the rare open ones that transformed her features completely. His world shattered and rebuilt itself and suddenly everything seemed possible in this new strange life he found himself in.


	4. Chapter 4

Their lives were far from quiet. There was always a new menace to best, a new mystery to solve. If he was honest with himself, he quite liked it. For once, he could prove his worth by helping others, defending instead of destroying. But sometimes he longed for a quiet moment, to talk to Emma about what was going on his head. He had long ago accepted that he was hers, heart and soul, but every time he tried to start a conversation that might lead to him confessing his feelings, Emma disappeared.

He didn't know how one went about courting in this realm. Hell, he didn't know how one went about courting, period. There had only ever been one other woman in his life and that had been several life times ago. He wished Emma would give him some sign, some reassurance that she felt, if not as strongly as he did, at least something for him. But it seemed that every time they got closer, every time she let down her walls and let him in a little bit more, she would retreat again. It was a strange dance in which they took a step back for every step they took forward.

He couldn't blame her for it. She was risking her life being close to him, after all. He still hadn't shaken the fear that whatever made her special would stop protecting her at some point. It made sense that she should be afraid of the same thing, causing her to retreat from him. Hell, if he were a better man, he would have ended things a long time ago, putting her safety before his selfish desires.

All of that changes on a cold, stormy day that starts out much the same as any other. He and Emma are investigating a series of attacks at the harbour. Two of the dwarves reported being attacked by some sort of giant tentacle. One resident is missing. There's always something in this town. He's standing at the dock, looking out over the water, narrowing his brow at the unusually calm sea, when it happens. The massive tentacles wrap around his legs and torso before he even has time to react. With unbelievable speed, he gets drawn off the dock. The only noise he makes is a surprised yelp, then he is immersed in water.

He tries to reach for his sword, but it's useless, one of the tentacles is wrapped around his waist, crushing the air from his lungs and pinning the handle of the sword to his side. Instead, he puts all of his strength into a swing with his left arm, embedding his hook in the tentacle around his waist. The beast seems unimpressed by the action, the only response to his efforts a further tightening of both tentacles around him. Another one shoots up and wraps around his left arm, taking his last means of defence.

He thinks that it's fitting that he will perish at the hands, or rather tentacles, of a kraken. He will die with many regrets, chief among them never knowing if the budding romance between him and Emma could ever have been more, if he ever even had a shot at happiness. His vision goes dark and his lungs feel like they're exploding, he needs air badly, but he is nowhere near the surface. 

Then suddenly the water is illuminated by a flash of white light, striking the beast. He can feel its heat scorching his skin, even in the cold water, even though he does not come into contact with it directly. The last thing he sees is the ugly face of the kraken, angry eyes of unbelievable size glaring at him. Then there's nothing.

* * *

He coughs and gasps. His lung is on fire, every breath hurts his chest. He coughs again and the pain in his chest intensifies. He opens his eyes and his entire field of vision is reduced to Emma leaning down over him, her expression filled with worry. He's lying on the dock, with no idea how he got there. He realizes that Emma is dripping wet, just as he is. She must have jumped into the water after him. Foolish, brave, magnificent woman that she is. 

She helps him into a sitting position and he coughs again, tasting salt water. He barely has time to catch his breath before Emma envelops him in a tight hug. He can feel her shaking slightly and starts to draw his hand through her hair. He thinks that he will never stop being amazed at the feel of it, so soft under his touch. Emma draws in a ragged breath and he whispers reassurances into her neck. I'm here. I'm fine.

The situation is a strange mirror of the day they first discovered Emma's inexplicable immunity to his curse. He still remembers every second of that encounter as if it happened yesterday. He will never forget it for as long as he will live. He starts to shiver. They are both drenched and it was already a bloody cold day to begin with. Emma must have come to a similar conclusion, because she pulls back from him reluctantly and stands up. She reaches out her hand and the two of them manage to haul him to his feet.

* * *

She brings him to her parent's loft. Again. He's having a strange sense of deja-vu, his skin tingling with anticipation. He knows that the Charmings left town for the weekend, at Emma's insistence to, for once, take some time for themselves. She flat-out refused the residents who wanted to call them back at the first sign of trouble, saying that there were quite enough heroes in this town to defend it. He wonders if she could ever include him in that group.

He scratches behind his ear, nervous and self-conscious all of a sudden.

"Do you want to shower first?", he asks. He's freezing and aching, but he's sure so is Emma. 

Emma surprises him, somehow managing to give him a grin that is both wicked and hesitant.

"I thought we could shower together."

He closes his eyes, a series of very vivid scenes assaulting his imagination. His breathing speeds up and his heart starts thundering in his chest.

He feels Emma's hands settle on his arms, her voice close to his ear as she speaks, barely above a whisper.

"Hey, nothing has to happen." He can hear the smile in her next words. "Unless you want it to."

He opens his eyes and Emma looks at him, a reassuring smile on her lips, and he's aroused and terrified and he doesn't know what to do. He just stares back at her and he's sure she must see the fear in his eyes. He hopes she will rescind her offer and at the same time hopes she won't. 

In the end, as usual, Emma takes the lead. She takes a hold of his hand and leads him to the bathroom. Her steps are slow and deliberate, letting him know that he can stop the proceedings any time he wants. 

When they reach their destination, she turns around and looks at him as if to gauge his reaction. He's still torn between an almost overwhelming urge to run and the spark of desire that, despite his best efforts to quench it, has taken root in his heart, and body, and soul.

She slowly moves in for a kiss and he knows he's done for. For a second, he manages to break free from the constant stream of doubt and fear in his mind, the endless narrative of how what he's doing is wrong, despicable, selfish, and he just lives in that moment. His hand shoots up to cup her cheek and the kiss deepens, turning passionate, frenzied even. To soon, he has to pull back, because his lungs are not up to the challenge just yet. He has to cough and Emma looks at him apologetically.

He waves his hand, indicating that it's fine. She catches his eyes and the wicked smile is back, almost knocking him off his feet. She only gives him a moment to catch his breath, then she steps back and starts to undress, peeling off the drenched fabric. His eyes drink her in hungrily and it's only when his gaze travels back up to her face and he sees her amused grin and raised eyebrow that he realizes that he is still completely clothed, standing around like an idiot.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He has commanded a ship in battle. He has crushed the hopes and lives of countless men. He has fought a bloody _kraken_ not one hour ago, dammit. He is not some blushing youth. He can do this. 

His eyes fly open again at Emma's soft touch against his chest, unbuttoning his shirt. He always makes sure to button it to the neck, exposing as little of his poisonous skin to the world as possible. Her hands move over his skin reverently, a feather-like caress, and he will never tire of this for as long as he lives. 

She pushes the shirt down over his shoulders. He's barely assisting, distracted by her touch, and her nudity. Her hands go to his belt and their eyes lock. He sees a question there, she's asking him if he's sure, and maybe he's old-fashioned, but he has the distinct feeling that their roles should be reversed. He nods and closes his eyes once more and she continues to undress him with quick hands.

When he opens his eyes again, she's giving him another reassuring smile. He doesn't feel reassured. He feels he should be taking charge. If he ever allowed himself the luxury to imagine, he never imagined it would be like this. But maybe, on some level, he always knew that it had to be like this with Emma. She always led, and he followed.

She steps closer and whispers into his ear. He can hear amusement in her voice, but also desire. He shivers involuntarily.

"Breathe."

He gulps in a lungful of air. He had indeed neglected to breathe for a few moments. He's already hard and he's afraid, afraid that he will ruin this, that he doesn't have the stamina to make this as pleasurable for her as it could be. Afraid that she will be disappointed in him. Afraid that she will finally see him for what he really is, and run, and never look back.

She leans even closer, her breath ghosting over the shell of his ear as she speaks.

"Stop thinking."

Then her lips find his again in one swift movement and he does as he's told, giving himself over to sensation. His hand roams over her body, and she's so cold, yet burning at the same time under his touch. Emma moans into his mouth and the sound goes straight to his groin. He cups her breasts, hell-bent on pulling that delicious noise from her once more.

She shivers in his arms and he's freezing as well, so they tumble into the shower together, hands and lips everywhere. Hot water is added to the sensory overload he's already struggling with and it's all too much, too soon and it's breathtaking. Emma moves flush against him, thrusting her hips against him and now it's his turn to moan. Her hands roam down over his back to his ass.

He can't breathe, he can't think, it's all sensation and it's more than he has ever felt before in his life. He wonders if it will always be like this or if the sensation will dull with time and repetition. He cannot decide which would be preferable.

He can feel his control slipping away from him and it's terrifying. Several times, his hips start moving of their own account and he consciously puts a stop to it. He needs to stay in control. He's already aroused beyond belief, harder than he remembers ever having been in his life. He's going to make a fool of himself. 

He's still wearing the damn brace and hook, because he wasn't strong enough, bold enough, to reveal that last piece of his brokenness to her, and Emma didn't take it on her own.

Suddenly, Emma stops moving and narrows her eyes. He's sure he did something wrong. Maybe she sensed what's about to happen. The panic is rising again and he almost bolts from the shower.

"Emma ... I can't ... I'm going to..."

She puts a finger to his lips, stopping his rambling. Then she smiles that infuriating smile again. She leans in close, her hand sliding in between them and grabbing him, taking him completely by surprise. He makes a hissing sound and the back of his head collides painfully with the bathroom wall.

Emma's mouth is at his ear again, speaking soothing words.

"How about we take this slowly? We can do this properly later. For now, I would very much enjoy to see you come apart." The last words are a seductive whisper.

She pulls back a little to look at his face. He studies her eyes, afraid that she is doing this out of some sense of obligation, or worse, pity. But what he actually sees takes his breath away. Her pupils are blown wide, even in the spray of the shower he can clearly see that they are almost all black. She's just as turned on as he is.

He breathes a sigh of relief and lets go. Lets go of his fears and anxieties for the moment and just enjoys the feel of her grip. She must have sensed the change in his mood, because her hand starts to move slowly, her thumb brushing over the top with each stroke. He groans and he's so close already, even though she has barely touched him.

Her other hand comes up and pushes him back against the bathroom wall lightly. Her eyes roam over him and it's almost as arousing as her touch, the way she looks at him hungrily.

He bites his bottom lip, trying to distract himself and draw out the moment. Their eyes lock again. His hand is on her hip, holding on for dear life. He's thrusting up into her hand helplessly, embarrassed by the sounds coming out of his mouth. 

"Beautiful", Emma whispers and leans in close once more, her bare breasts touching his chest. Her tongue darts out and ghosts along the shell of his ear. She increases the pace and he's rutting against her, all illusions of control forgotten.

"Come for me", she says and he does. The force of it takes him by surprise. When it's over, he slumps against the wall. Emma's arm draws around him, helping him to stay upright. He looks at her, dazedly, and she's smiling back at him wickedly, a promise of things to come in her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? You mean you never had an experience that was so mind-blowing that it changed the tense of your narrative?
> 
> Joking aside, this story would probably have worked better in present tense from the beginning, but for this chapter it really worked so much better that I decided to change it. Let's just imagine he's been telling his story until this moment and now we've reached his present. Or some other meaningful explanation for why I fucked up the tense.


End file.
